Surrender
by Frank-da-rabbit
Summary: [OneShot] This is supposed to be real life. This is supposed to be him on his meds and her without bandages. It isn't supposed to this - them. craigellie.


**You know, I don't even know. I'm not even sure if I like this, but it took me a while to write (mostly to end) and so I thought I'd share it. Oh, and I got the title from a song by Cheap Trick, who is totally a kick-ass band by the way.**

**Disclaimer: I owe nothing. Imagine that. I'm going to go punch the wall now. :cries:**

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Surrender**

This is supposed to be real life.

This is supposed to be him on his meds and her without bandages.

This is supposed to be Craig and Ashely. Ellie and Sean.

It isn't supposed to be **Craig Manning** (ex-boyfriend of Ashely Kerwin) and **Ellie Nash** (ex-girlfriend of Sean Cameron).

It isn't supposed to be this - _them._ They're not supposed to be touching and gasping and kissing. They're not supposed to be holding each other late at night when his house is empty.

But they are. And it's getting to her.

She's not saying it isn't her fault. She initiated it. She touched him first. She let him touch her back. She just wishes that she had some sort of self-control. She wishes that he had never come to her after Ashely left. She wishes that he had cried into his pillow like every other sane person on this god-forsaken planet.

But then she remembers: he _isn't_ sane.

She remembers: neither is she.

So she allows her reason to collapse and continues to touch and gasp and kiss. Ashely won't know, anyway. Sean gave up his right to care. She'll never tell either one.

Ellie used to be honest.

She used to try and tell the truth, used to let everyone know what was what and who was who. With exception of a few things. Like her drunk of a mother. Her fading scars. Her gay boyfriend. Things that were nobody's business.

She lies now. Constantly. She lies to Marco and Alex and her mother. She lies to a panting Craig. She lies to the muffled Ashely living in her phone.

But mostly, she lies to herself.

She isn't fucking Craig. Lie number one. She doesn't sneak into his garage/room late at night and let him touch her. She doesn't come whispering his name. She doesn't fall asleep resting against his bare chest wishing it could be like that forever. She would never do that to Ashely. Not to her best friend.

She isn't cutting again. Lie number two. She doesn't stare down at old scars and newly broken flesh and wonder where it was exactly that her life went wrong. She doesn't put the compass to her skin, press, then pull. She doesn't own that compass anymore. She threw it out months ago.

She doesn't betray. She doesn't mutilate. She isn't that kind of person. That kind of friend. She isn't a lair, and she isn't a fake.

And she's definitely not in love. (Lie six-hundred and forty-seven, she guesses.) Not with Craig. She _wouldn't_ do that to Ashely. Not even to Sean. She would never lie awake thinking what it would be like to share a run-down apartment with the musician; staying up late into the night scribbling out duets of sappy lyrics placed to emo-based guitar rifts. She doesn't imagine her wedding and her dress isn't ivory white.

Because this isn't real life.

In real life, she's happy in her apartment with Sean. She holds his hand and kisses his cheek and doesn't lie.

In real life, he's happy with Ashely. He writes her songs and tells her he loves her and he doesn't fuck her best friend.

They're friends, but only because Ashely lets them be friends. They don't touch and they don't gasp and they certainly do not kiss.

In real life.

But this isn't real life. They're both broken and alone and his house is empty. Her arms are bleeding on his sweat-stained sheets. His mind is losing all sense of stability. They're tumbling and falling and neither one cares enough to stop it, because frankly, real life sucks.

So she touches. She touches and she gasps and she kisses.

And she loves. And muffled Ashely will never know--

This is supposed to be real life.

This is supposed to be him on his meds and her without bandages.

But it's not.

And with Craig touching her, nothing but ivory-gown gasps and sappy-emo kisses, Ellie never wants it to be again.

_**Fin**_


End file.
